Coping
by WingedFlight
Summary: She studies physics and evolution and knows now that magic wardrobes and goat-legged men are scientifically impossible. - Slight LB AU.


_**A/N: **Slightly AU, although you may not be able to tell until the end.

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"I was just a child!" she tells Edmund once, desperate for him to understand. "We were all just children. It was nothing more than a game to block the fear of the war."

A game, a story – one that seems to have sunk down through her skin and into her bones. A childhood pastime and nothing more. She studies physics and evolution and knows now that magic wardrobes and goat-legged men are scientifically impossible. Edmund invites her to church and the one time she finally goes, she walks in and walks out and never returns. "Belief is for those who cannot grasp the explanation," she says crisply when he asks her what she thought, and then has to look away quickly because of the expression that comes to Edmund's face.

She does not see her other siblings nearly so often as Edmund. They act as though her refusal to play along is the greatest betrayal possible, and she cannot stand their patronizing airs. Perhaps, if they would leave the subject alone… but of course, they never do. Edmund, though, she sees every other week, bringing tidbits of news and Mother's chocolate biscuits, and only rarely mentioning what she would rather not discuss.

"Why can't they just leave it alone?" she asks him one day, in reference to her other siblings' tendency to annoy her with their pleadings.

He stares into his cup for a long time, finger tapping the side in an unconscious movement. "Everyone has their ways of coping," he says at last, "Their way is different than yours."

She knows exactly what he means by _coping_, but lets it slide. After all, she knows making a fuss will get her nowhere, and she does not want to alienate anyone else. So she lifts her mug and finishes the beer before sliding from the stool. "Let's walk," she suggests, and leads Edmund out the door.

She loves to go on walks, to see each and every detail of the world around her. There are days when there is nothing more beautiful than the streets glistening with rain and oil, raindrops pattering down over the edge of the roof like a miniature symphony. Those are the days she steps in every puddle just because she can, laughing and dancing as she soaks her shoes. It isn't very proper of her at all, but Edmund just shakes his head at her and tries his best to keep up.

Peter once told her that the university has made her cynical and jaded, unable to see anything worth appreciating. His words had hurt, but of course she didn't let him see that. And clearly Peter could not see the truth - her love of the world is only emphasized through her studies.

A trio of students pass by on the way to the bar, most likely, and she smiles easily at what she can make out of their frenzied conversation. "It's a biology joke," she explains to Edmund when they're out of earshot, and he rolls his eyes at her.

The ambled walk takes them through the campus grounds, past budding trees and waking flowers. She loves the way the raindrops sit on the petals like tiny perfect crystals, reflecting the emerging sunlight in a multitude of colour. She loves the spring, loves how very alive it makes her feel; she wants to shed her coat and dance barefoot in the damp grass.

They are nearly back to her dorm when Edmund stops abruptly, a sharp frown on his face as he glances at his wristwatch. He jambs his hands into his coat pockets, giving her a look that is fairly apprehensive. "There's something I need to tell you," he begins, and she shakes her head furiously at him because she knows exactly what he is about to bring up and she doesn't want to hear a word of it.

"Hear me out," he pleads, and reaches to take her arm. She lets him, even though she wants nothing more than to childishly stick her fingers in her ears and run as far as she can.

Edmund pauses a moment longer as though gathering the words – or the courage – to speak. "I told you last time I was here that we were going to have a dinner party for all the friends of-"

"Yes," she interrupts quickly.

"We – had it, and a Narnian showed up, and everyone saw it-"

Her posture is stiffening and her eyes narrowing. Edmund sees this and finishes quickly, "I know you pretend – believe – you don't want to think about that life anymore, but Narnia's in trouble. Pete and I dug up the rings and we're sending Jill and Eustace back tomorrow. But I thought – there's more than two pairs of rings."

She can still remember that day, long ago in the midst of war not long after she and her siblings had been sent to the country, when the elderly professor had told them a fantasy story. Rings and flying horses and a forest of pools, and an adventure that spanned universes. Her siblings claim that this story was told after they had begun their game, but it makes much more sense to her logical mind that this story had started it all. She can still recall the wonder felt as she learned of a way to travel between worlds at will, and -

The importance of Edmund's statement crashes over her. For one instant, she drowns in indecision and uncertainty. _Rings – a chance to – but what about–?_

"You'd break the rules for me?" she whispers, thawing out just a little.

"You are my sister," he replies. "And I would do anything for you."

She bites her lip and looks past his shoulder at the sun peaking through rain clouds and reflecting off the glass windows of the university dorms. "No, Edmund," she sighs, "I'm too old for make-believe."

With his sigh of disappointment she can almost hear her sister claiming in a petulant voice that no one is ever too old for make-believe. With a twist of her lips in ignorance of the memory, she lifts her chin and steps away from her brother.

Edmund doesn't move. He lifts his head and studies the formation of the clouds as though trying to guess whether the rain will soon begin again.

"You're leaving now, aren't you?" she asks softly, and he nods in reply.

He looks at his wristwatch once more, and states, "Train leaves in an hour. I'll come back to visit you soon."

"Yes," she replies, and doesn't move as he strides off across the lawn.

That night, after she has learned of the accident and the deaths, Lucy cries herself to sleep and dreams of castles and ships and a lion on the beach.

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_And I couldn't mention this at the top, but my idea was based on a vid I saw on youtube called _Nobody's Home_ by lovetolovefairytales. There's a link to it from my livejournal._


End file.
